The Bells Of Notre Dame
by SarcasticRomantic1995
Summary: Take a look into Quasimodo's family history from the eyes of the gypsy woman who claimed him as her own. Disney based, I do not own rights to the movie!


Agnes was soaked in sweat and breathing heavily. Her long, bright red hair fell in tousled and tangled waves as her skin was translucently pale. Her hazel eyes clung upon the ceiling above her before resting a moment behind the comfort of her eyelids. She had just given birth to a son, though she would never get to know him. In her last moments she looked upon her midwife, the gypsy woman who had been her friend since childhood. Agnes found comfort in her voice, even now in such a grave circumstance. She spoke as softly as she could to reserve her strength.

"Sapphira," she breathed lightly, "My child... I would like to see my child... Please..." Sapphira stroked her hand and held a finger over Agnes's colorless lips. "Be still and be silent, now." she hushed, "The other midwife fainted when she looked upon its face." Agnes chuckled lightly, "And why would that be?" Sapphira sighed. Explaining such a strange infant to his dying mother was no easy task.

"I must warn you, Agnes," she said, "He is not a normal boy." "So it is a boy!" exclaimed Agnes, "I have a son of my own to cherish." She closed her eyes, gratified by such a miracle before again opening them. "When will I see him?" she asked. Sapphira took a deep breath and a moment to think before she responded. "He is deformed of face and body." she said sadly, "The elders believe him to be unholy."

Agnes was not phased by such tidings.

"Don't be so ridiculous," she shrugged, her brow glistening with beads of sweat, "I insist I see my son, immediately." Sapphira gave her a worried glance, but turned towards the door of her wagon home. Waiting outside was Riccardo, her husband and father of her daughter. "They have the thing," he informed her, "But they don't know what to do with it." "An it? Thing?" Sapphira asked repulsed, "You refer to the baby as if it is a monster." "It IS a monster!" he scowled, "Did you not see its face?"

Riccardo and Sapphira stood silent in the cool summer night.

"Any child born into this world," she hissed, "Is a miracle sent from Maria herself. Remember that, my love, and cherish the angel that I delivered into this world." Sapphira walked down the steps of the wagon and marched through the tall grass and towards the elder's circle. The caravan was camped about three miles from the city walls of Paris, and three miles safer from the jaded eyes of inequality. Even so, she found it essential for the caravan to find a home inside the wall of the city. It would make so many opportunities available for her and her people...

A small tug interrupted her thoughts. "Mommy!" cried her young Esmeralda. She must have found her way out of the sight of her grandmother, who had volunteered to look after the girl. Esmeralda was only about 2 years old, and yet she had blossomed into such a beautiful child. Her eyes, the most striking feature on her face, where a vibrant shade green that stunned all who beheld her. From the most beautiful woman in the village, such a girl was to be expected.

With a motherly smile, she scooped up her little Esmeralda and held her in her in her arms. Esmeralda instinctively latched onto her, laying her head on her shoulder. Kissing the top of her head, Sapphira moved forward across the field and towards the elders grouped around a fire pit.

She stood in front of the fire, casting a dark shadow of her silhouette against the wild flames. "I call upon the king of the gypsies," Sapphira requested boldly, "To discuss the well being of the child born one hour ago." The old women sitting around the fire looked aghast, whispering to one another in a gossiping chatter. There was a moment of silence before the sound of rustling blades of grass caused her to turn around and peer over the blazing fire. There stood her brother Miguel, with his son Clopin, facing her with a look of caution laced across his eyes.

"Who calls of me?" he asked.

Sapphira stood firm, her mission not yet complete. "The child is asked to be seen by his mother." she proclaimed. King Miguel shook his head as he circled the pit to approach his sister. "I have not decided what to do with him yet." he said, "She may not see him."

"It is her dying wish." Sapphira pleaded, "She does not have very much time left to live. I can smell it on her." He looked down at Clopin, heaved a great sigh, then returned to meet her gaze. "Then I shall bring the child in due haste," he said, "Only for the sake of teaching my son the virtue of compassion." Sapphira smiled faintly, "Please, Miguel. Hurry."

She made her way back to the wagon, handing the now sleeping Esmeralda to Riccardo. "Take her back to your mother's please," Sapphira instructed, "She doesn't need to see this." Riccardo nodded, carrying the girl down the steps and into the dim fire light of the night.

Sapphira opened the door and stepped into the wagon, trying to hold her breath. As she had said earlier before, the room had the faint scent of decay, similar to that of a rotting corpse. She looked upon Agnes's fragile body, her eyes now wide and delirious saucers as they gazed back at the gypsy. "Where is he?" she asked dreamily. Sapphira tries to be as kind as possible to her dying friend. "Miguel will bring him soon. He promised to." Agnes smiled, gasping now for breath. "What's wrong?" Sapphira asked, but Agnes could not answer. She continued to gag uncontrollably.

Sapphira ran to her side and held her hand as Agnes continued to struggle. "Agnes, Agnes!" she cried, "Stay with me!" Agnes chortled, coughing up a bit of blood which dripped down her lip. Then, ever so suddenly, she gave out. Her eyes were still wide and glassy, even as she lied there.

Sapphira, tears pouring down her face, closed Agnes's lids to her eternal rest.

The sheer agony and guilt residing inside Sapphira was excruciating. Of all the things in the world, she could not fulfill her last engagement to her dearest friend. After all the times she had hidden her from Parisian guards, all the food that she bought for the caravan, when she even brought medicine to her sick daughter... Agnes had done so much for her, and she herself lacked to succeed in delivering her the only thing she ever asked from her: the child.

Sapphira thrust herself off the floor and catapulted herself into the chill of the night air. Miguel stood there, holding a torch instead of a babe. "Where is he?" she demanded. Miguel replied cooly, "The elders wouldn't allow it. They believe he's a monster needed to-" "You're the monsters!" she screeched, "You sent her away from this world! You cast away an angel from heaven just because of his body! He feels, he lives, and yet you demean him! Because of you, she never met her own son before she-" Sapphira's knees grew weak as she collapsed before the gypsy king, unable to speak. She sobbed and mourned in a catastrophic display of utter sorrow. Miguel looked down at her with pity.

"Come with me, sister," he said softly, "I will take you to the babe."

Sapphira dried her tears and rose to her feet. The two then walked to the largest wagon in the caravan, where Miguel stopped at the door. "I will go no further," he said, "He lies just inside." With newly gathered courage in her, she entered the room.

At the far right corner stood a small basket on top of a table. Bundled in a linen cloth lied the boy, who was asleep. As Sapphira peered at him, she saw the horror of his birth. His right eye was distorted beyond recognition, his shoulders were not level with one another. His nose was pressed upward, resembling a pig snout. And yet, despite such and unfortunate being, Sapphira began to ache with longing to hold the child. He was the last trace that his mother even existed.

She wanted to be his new mother...

She plucked the sleeping babe from the basket. He stirred in her arms, opening his eyes and smiling at her. An angel in disguise, surely... She smiled back at the darling being.

She stepped out of the wagon to address Miguel, the baby still lying upon her breast. "I will take him." she said firmly.

"There is no way I can allow that.""And there is no way that I can just abandon him.""Riccardo will be angry.""Let him be."

Sapphira walked past him, turning her back to Miguel. "This child is as innocently born as you or I. I shall keep him." she said, undoubtably making her point. Miguel sighed, defeated.

"Then he is yours." he said, "Go to your husband, you must rest. The trip into Paris will be grueling in the morning." She looked up a him. "So soon?" she asked. Miguel nodded. "It must be done." he said before turning and entering the wagon, leaving her alone with her prize.

"I will love you always," she whispered, "Angel..."

_**Dark was the night when our tale was begun, on the docks of Notre Dame...**_

"Shut it up, will you!" Riccardo growled anxiously.

"We'll be spotted!"

"Hush, little one!" Sapphira whispered to the wailing babe.

_**Fortunate gypsies slid silently, under the docks of Notre Dame...But a trap has been layed for the gypsies, and they gazed up in fear and alarm...At a figure whose clutches were as iron as much as the bells...**_

"Judge Claude Frollo!" Riccardo gasped.

_**The bells of Notre Dame!Judge Claude Frollo longed to purge the world of vice and sin...And he saw corruption everywhere, except within...**_

"Take these gypsy vermon to the Palace of Justice." sneered the graying judge, high above on his black steed. A soldier grabbed Sapphira's arm and reached for her bundle. "You there! What are you hiding?" he demanded as she struggled to break free. When she did, Frollo snarled, "Stolen goods, no doubt. Take them from her."

He couldn't have her Angel, not her son. She would rather die.

_**She ran.**_


End file.
